


Strings

by RahDamon



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blind Keith, Disaster Gay Keith, M/M, Sarcasm, mention of car accident, present fic, violinist keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 07:05:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15769053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RahDamon/pseuds/RahDamon
Summary: "Hey, could you open the door, please, Keith? It feels strange talking to a closed door."The man - the voice on the other side was definitely male - knew his name - and his voice wasn't one he had heard recently or was familiar! Although, on second thought he swore that he had heard it somewhere before. However, if Keith couldn't remember who it belonged to, then the person on the side was certainly not close enough to Keith to call him by his first name."Who are you?""Open the door, please."Keith snorted. "Oh yeah, open the door to the nice voice," - damn that wasn't supposed to slip out, though it was true; the voice wasn't smooth or gravelly or gritty but it maintained a nice level throughout - "of the person who refuses to identify themselves. It's not like I'm in the middle of nowhere without any help near or blind and therefore helpless, were that person in the mind of killing me."





	Strings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lyrikin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrikin/gifts).



Keith's fingers traced the edges of his violin, the wood smooth yet ridged. If he tried, he could still remember the glossy brown, a brown so deep he could have sworn it was red sometimes. That's why he had wanted that particular violin, anyway. It had called to him.

 

Not that it mattered now. Well, his violin's color didn't matter but at least he could still play. Keith had worked hard over the years, had spent hours practicing to strum the strings and flex his wrist and stretch his fingers. He had spent days learning the correct way of holding his bow, his violin, of angling his head so it didn't get in the way.

 

And it all amounted to one simple fact: Playing the violin was ingrained into his muscle memory. Keith could play the violin in his sleep and with his eyes closed. Which was a good thing, since his eyes were closed permanently now, in a manner of speaking anyway.

 

With a heavy sigh, Keith stretched out his hand searching for the table. Once his fingertips hit the surface, he traced it, the texture intimate and familiar after the last three weeks home. Thankfully the space was empty and he put down his violin carefully placing it away from the edge.

 

In his current mood Keith didn't want to play his violin and risk breaking the bow just because he got overwhelmed by bitterness about his situation again.

 

Nowadays, everything seemed to lead back to his blindness. Which did make sense since Keith had been able to see perfectly well four months ago. Before that night when he had been driving home on his bike, happy and flustered, still high from getting touched on the shoulder by his current crush. Before someone had rammed his car into Keith's bike and driven away, leaving both Keith and his bike mangled on the road like stray road kill.

 

Taking a deep breath, again, Keith centered himself. What did the therapist he had been forced to see before being discharged say?

 

"Center yourself. You're not at fault. Lights out but that doesn't mean you're helpless. Breathe, too. Don't rage. Don't get stuck being helpless and lost in your thoughts." A few other things as well but Keith didn't bother remembering them.

 

The bell rang and he twitched, hissing in a tangy puff of air. The bell was so loud now, it had never been that loud before.

 

"Don't compare the before and the after. It won't help, just frustrate you." Oh yeah, that had been another piece of advice.

 

"A moment, please," Keith called out, heaving himself up and inching forwards, hands stretched out and sort of shuffling through his living room. For the flicker of a moment, Keith wondered who had cleaned his living room but then he remembered the hours slowly working through the stuff on his floor, organizing and sitting down crying, head in hands, whenever he missed the garbage bag or stumbled over something he hadn't packed away yet.

 

While he tried getting to the door without stumbling over his own two feet, the bell started ringing again. Keith was getting irritated as he called out another sharp 'Wait a sec.'

 

Finally, Keith arrived at the door and leaned his forehead against it. His chest shook, heaving in search of air, as though Keith had run a marathon. Back before his eyesight was taken, he wouldn't have even noticed the amount effort it took to get from his living room couch to his shack door, now? Now it was exhausting.

 

"Who's there?" Keith said out loud, hoping to both drown out his thoughts and find out why someone was standing in front of his door. It wasn't like his shack was easy to find or to mistake for another house. His shack was in the middle of nowhere, just outside the city, after all.

 

"Hey, could you open the door, please, Keith? It feels strange talking to a closed door."

 

The man - the voice on the other side was definitely male - knew his name - and his voice wasn't one he had heard recently or was familiar! Although, on second thought he swore that he had heard it somewhere before. However, if Keith couldn't remember who it belonged to, then the person on the side was certainly not close enough to Keith to call him by his first name.

 

"Who are you?"

 

"Open the door, please."

 

Keith snorted. "Oh yeah, open the door to the nice voice," - damn that wasn't supposed to slip out, though it was true; the voice wasn't smooth or gravelly or gritty but it maintained a nice level throughout - "of the person who refuses to identify themselves. It's not like I'm in the middle of nowhere without any help near or blind and therefore helpless, were that person in the mind of killing me."

 

A rough chuckle answered him instead of vanishing footsteps or an angry remark like Keith had halfway expected.

 

"True, true. Ok, let's do it like this."

 

Outside of Keith's door, someone took a deep breath. The fact that Keith could hear that was also a testament to his newly robbed sense. How new was it, though, if it had already been four months since he had seen the back of his hand?

 

"I don't know if you remember but the night of your accident? You were at a party."

 

"Oh no, I don't remember the night I was roadkilled, gosh, that's news to me."

 

Another stifled chuckle and Keith almost answered with a chuckle of his own but he ruthlessly suppressed it. No, Keith shouldn't laugh with his potential would-be murderer.

 

"Yeah, that night. I was there, too."

 

"So were many people, your point? Also my throat's getting sore, get to that damn point already."

 

"I'm one of Allura's friends. Shiro. Takashi Shirogane but I go by Shiro. It's easier than to hear countless people butcher my name. We talked a little about that at the party?"

 

Holy shit. Holy, holy shit. His crush. The hunk he had occasionally watched talking with Allura and who he had assumed to be her boyfriend. The man he had been dreaming about on his last ride. Was standing right outside his door. Keith wasn't sure he was capable of computing that fact.

 

"Uh, soo, could you let me in now?"

 

Keith's hands lifted on their own accord, fiddling with his locks and sliding them open, one by one, until all four were hanging and free and the door swung to the outside. Keith only thought of warning Shiro a second too late but since he hadn't heard a dull thud ... Shiro had most likely dodged.

 

Shiro was talking again, voice a lot clearer than before but Keith couldn't listen.

 

Sure, he had noticed Shiro's build before - that man had a gorgeous body, with all its scars and scrapes - but he had never before noticed Shiro's scent. Not that Keith could actually describe it. Having never paid concrete attention to scents he didn't have much differentiation except for _pleasant_ , _don't smell it_ , and _dying animal that's rotting under my porch_.

 

But still, if Keith had to describe Shiro's scent, he'd use the words _celestial_ , _delicious_ and _to die for_ in some convoluted, itself repeating speech.

 

A hand softly feathers over Keith's cheek, the touch incredibly foreign and too cold to be a human hand. Keith flinched back, instinctively using his hand to push himself off the wall and landing in the great unknown.

 

'The great unknown' - it didn't deserve capital letters yet - was what Keith called the space around him whenever he wasn't touching anything around him to have a frame of reference to where stuff was. It was him standing all out in the open, hanging in the empty air, and afraid to move while his fight and flight sense was triggered.

 

This time flight won the race and Keith tried stumbling back, only to yelp as he tripped over his own damn feet when he shuffled backward. His head would have probably hit the floor, again, and send him to the hospital, again, with injuries that demanded some human presence as his companion ( read: babysitter) at home, which Keith would refuse, again.

 

Yet his head didn't hit the floor. Instead, it was caught by an enormous hand and Keith's body was pulled flush against a broad one with hard muscles. Keith's hand scrambled for purchase but the only thing to hold was the nice and big chest directly in front him.

 

When Keith's fingertips got caught on what had to be a nipple piercing, both he and Shiro moaned.

 

It was official. Keith wanted to die. Forget low key wanting to die and turn it into high-key, the highest key, wanting to die. What a wonderful host he was. First making the poor man stand outside the door for ages - never mind that he could have been a serial killer so Keith acted perfectly fine in questioning Shiro -, then tripping, and now molesting the guy.

 

As fast as he could he scrambled off Shiro, murmuring apologies and trying to crawl away.

 

“Hey, it’s okay, careful.” Shiro caught Keith’s hand, their calluses rubbing against each other, sweat acting as kind of lubricant, and oh God. What else could Shiro lubricate and rub against him and nope, Keith wasn’t doing that. He so wasn’t doing this.

 

However, Shiro didn’t seem to get the message and stop being perfect. Because after he squeezed Keith’s hand once before swinging Keith into his arms, standing and walking forward, all the while carrying Keith without trouble.

 

Fuck that man. How dare he give Keith even more reason to salivate after him.

 

Shiro lowered Keith onto his couch, squeezing his waist before he let go and sat down next to Keith. Or at least that’s what Keith assumed from the bounce of the couch and the almost searing heat just shy of touching him.

 

“After that embarrassing bit,” Keith turned his head to the side hoping to face Shiro at least, “what can I do for you?”

 

Fingers gently grip his chin and change the angle of his head slightly before letting go. Those fingers were trembling.

 

“So, I heard of your accident. And Allura’s been moaning about how you refuse her help-”

 

Keith bristled, all his muscles locking up before a snarl rose from deep within. “I don’t need her pity, or yours. Heck, don’t even know you. So you can take your pity and shove it somewhere the sun doesn’t shine. I. Don’t. Need. ANYONE’s. Pity.”

 

Panting, Keith shook and trembled, fingernails clawing crescent-shaped marks into the balls of his hands.

 

“Sit back down.”

 

Oh, and Keith was standing.

 

Cool metal clamped down on his right elbow and dragged him back down to the couch ignoring his hiss. Shiro didn’t let go of Keith’s arm, even after Keith was sitting again.

 

“Let’s get one thing straight.” Shiro’s voice had changed a little, lower, deeper, enough to make Keith shiver in something besides anger. “It’s not pity. I admire you, have for a long time-”

 

Letting out a disbelieving snort, Keith shook his head. One noise led to another until he had his head thrown back in laughter- bitter tears just another laugh away. “Yeah, sure, like I’d believe that.”

 

“I love your violin performances.”

 

“Now, I know you’re pitying me - or got the wrong person. I never ever played on a stage in my life.”

 

Shiro hummed his fingers stroking from Keith’s elbow down to his wrist. He pressed down to feel Keith’s pulse his breath hitching before he spoke.

 

“Every Wednesday and Friday you’d play for the children in the park near the orphanage. I think most of those kids are from there? And Saturdays you’d play in front of the hospital fountain.”

 

Okay, no amount of crushing and attraction made the fact that Shiro knew when and where Keith publicly played less creepy.

 

“...Are you a stalker?”

 

“Wait, what! No!!”

 

Wincing, Keith flinched back startled by the very near, very loud shout and the grip tightening around his wrist. It immediately loosened and Shiro apologized in a whisper.

 

“Saturdays are my check-up on the metal arm days. In that hospital. It’s where I heard you first. And on the other side of that park is a mall. I… work in one of the shops there. My lunches are spent in that park.”

 

“So, you admire my violin playing and now you’re here to help?” Keith ticked an eyebrow-he knew he did- a scowl marring his face. “Call me cynical, but it doesn’t add up.”

 

“...I’d also been trying to find the courage to talk to you and ask you out cause you’re cute.”

 

Keith froze his mouth half way open and jaw hanging. Had he heard correctly? He remembered how Shiro looked like, there was no freaking way that he wouldn’t have the courage to ask out anyone. After all, anyone rejecting a kind and hot guy like Shiro had to be an idiot.

 

“Pull the other one.”

 

Shiro’s chuckles reverberated through the air and his cushions and echoed through Keith.

 

“You’re beautiful and fierce, you know? Kind of intimidating, too. Now, listen. Listen closely.”

 

Both of Keith’s hands were gripped tightly, thumbs rubbing along his life lines. Goosebumps broke out on Keith’s arms.

 

“I want to help you because I missed every chance I had so far. I want to help you cause I know exactly how it feels losing a vital part of you, and how it can crush you. I want to help you, so I can get to know you, and maybe down the line, something will happen. So, will you let me help you?”

 

The way Shiro’s voice washed over Keith was out of this world, a supernatural experience he had no words or terms to explain with. The words Shiro chose touched Keith and, God, he’s weak and putty in this man’s arms.

 

A little “okay” slipped out before Keith thought about it again.

 

“Wonderful!” The warmth in Shiro’s voice was the equivalent to someone beaming at Keith. “Then stand up for a mom, I gotta get your first help present and all the stuff you need for him.”

 

Unnecessarily, Keith blinked. First help present? Shiro hadn’t even known if Keith would open the door and had already a pre- wait, him?

 

His floors creaking and footsteps along with soft scratching noises alerted Keith to Shiro coming back.  

 

“Here!”

 

Something soft, thin and long was pressed into his hands and Keith had no idea what the hell he was holding.

 

“Uhh, Shiro, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m blind. What the hell am I hold---” The rest was drowned out by the shriek Keith let out when something licked up a wet stripe from the middle of his forearm to his elbow. He also stumbled back and yelped when he fell onto his couch.

It must have been a funny sight cause Shiro broke out in laughter until wheezing snorts were the only sounds he made. But Keith was paying more attention to the furry head that had butted into his stomach and was half laying on his legs. Whatever this animal was-and he had a gigantic suspicion-it was big.

 

He let his hands stroke through the long, fluffly fur until he came across some kind of harness and it clicked.

 

“You got me a guide dog?!”

 

“Yup, he’s already registered as yours. Allura pulled some strings.”

 

Keith just gaped at where he thought Shiro was, all the while petting the dog. Oh, God, what had he done accepting Shiro’s help? Was this the sort of thing the man pulled regularly? (At least, it wasn’t a small dog. Keith wasn’t a fan of small dogs.)

 

The dog chuffed and the faint thumps indicated that he was wagging his tail. Huh, and damn, was he soft.

 

“...your ‘gathering courage’ story seems even more bullshit now. To have the guts to take an animal with you without knowing that I’d let you in… that’s confidence.”

 

“Hmm, I’d not say that. But I’m proud of my persuasion skills. Now can I take you two out? I’m sure you need food and other things. You hardly can drive to the city.”

 

Well, Keith’s shelves and fridge contained...actually Keith had no idea what he had in his house. Hunk had supplied him with food daily since the accident.

 

“The dog’s name?”

 

Keith flinched when a finger stroke over his cheeks and down the column of his throat, leaving Keith breathless until a low growl sounded from next to him.

 

“Huh, he’s already protective? I might have sabotaged myself. Anyway, he was the fastest pup, so they gave him the name Kosmo.”

 

That didn’t make any sense but Keith chortled and dug his fingers into his new dog. “Good Kosmo. Now let’s get this date on the road.”

 

As Shiro laughed, Keith thought of strings, fate and music wise. How tangling the strings of one was good but the other would ruin the instrument. Strumming and tangling, he wanted both.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked this? Thank you for your hard work, you know what I am talking about.


End file.
